The Cell on the Second Floor
by cursedcursive
Summary: Doing anything is easy as long as it's for the one you love. USUK, rated T for the twisted plot line.


Alfred lied in his bed, his eyes opening to the morning sun's blinding light. His green curtains had been flung open, recently, he presumed, as they were still fluttering about.

"Good Morning, Alfred," a british voice conducted. Alfred's ears perked up as he heard the man speak.

"Morning, Arthur," the american replied. The brit's eyes sparkled and a smile adorned his face. Alfred's, however, was painted with a scowl, an empty look in his eyes. As the man began to reach for his glasses and crawled out of the comforter, the familiar rattling of chains filled the room. Alfred walked to the window, the shackles on his ankles making the trip especially difficult. He stared at the glow of the morning fields.

"What type of tea do you want to drink this morning, Alfred? I have earl gray or jasmine, which would you prefer?" Alfred didn't even bother to look at him.

"I don't want tea, Arthur." The former pirate frowned as Alfred continued to look out the window.

"Well, then, how about hot chocolate? Or maybe some coffee to wake you up?"

"I am awake, Arthur." Silence followed the statement as Arthur continued to stare at the american.

"Then I'll leave you be," The brit said, the clinking of the tea cups on the china tray accompanied by the creaking sigh of the door.

Alfred continued to look out the window. Once in a while, he would look at the nailed-down hinges, but he would quickly return to gazing at nothing in particular.

Turning around, Alfred walked as far as he could to the door, only to be restrained by the chains attaching him to the bed post. He reached his hand out to try and touch the knob yet he always fell just a few inches short.

Just a few inches short.

Quietly, he returned to his bed and proceeded to count the number of times the ceiling fan would rotate. _One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. _He sat up on his bed, cradling a frilled pillow as he stared at the blank walls surrounding him for several hours. Alfred didn't even flinch when he heard the door open at noon.

"Hello, Alfred." No response. "Are you hungry? I had the maids make you something, I think you'll like it," Arthur said to him. There was a long pause, but this time, Alfred did look up.

"How long are you going to keep me here, Arthur?" The brit's smile faded into a deep frown.

"How long?" He questioned the idea himself. His smile returned with new fervor. "Forever." A pause.

"Why?" Alfred questioned bluntly.

"Why?" Arthur repeated. The word made his mouth taste bitter and his lips express distaste. "Why?" Arthur repeated again, a little louder this time. Suddenly, his frown morphed into a toothy snarl. Tea bags and sandwiches fell to the floor as Arthur dropped the tray and launched himself at Alfred's bed. Grabbing his collar, the man held their faces close, his eyes wide with fury and fear. "_Why else?_" He screamed. "It's so that you don't try to run away again! You spend every second of every day always looking somewhere else, somewhere far away, always in the opposite direction of where I am!" Arthur screamed as he held Alfred's collar tighter, his eyes widening even more. "Even now, as I look at you, you're doing it! Looking at me with those distant eyes!" Arthur pushed Alfred away, Alfred falling back onto his pillows. Not once did he break eye contact. "I will keep you by my side no matter how many chains it takes," he muttered, his face hidden behind his bangs. The room went silent.

He suddenly looked back at the american. Arthur's face, stained with angry tears and swollen, red eyes, looked as though he may break if touched. Alfred leaned up in the bed, and, ever so gently, cradled the englishman's shaking body.

"Don't leave my side," he cried pitifully. Alfred stayed quiet.

"If that's what you want."

Alfred has always been looking out the windows, and always at the brightness of the blue sky from the confines of his room. He had always tried to reach for the doorknob, but had never persisted. He had never tried escaping, never even dreamed of the idea of doing so. Not even once. Not even once.

Because that was what his beloved wanted most of all.


End file.
